


When You Had the Chance

by murderbreak



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt, Light Angst, M/M, Personal Demons, Weapon Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderbreak/pseuds/murderbreak
Summary: Tom sat on his knees on the bed, looking over to Tord again. He was laying on his back, slightly snoring, bare chest rising and falling slowly. This was going to be his only opportunity, he realized. He can’t mess this up. If Tom wanted out of this, he had to do this now.This was his chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2 a.m so i'll probably have to come back and fix this whole thing but i'm pretty happy with it so enjoy friends

It was exactly 2:26 in the morning. The numbers glowed dimly, casting a faint green shadow over Tom’s features as he stared at the clock. He hadn't slept; butterflies had been beating his stomach hard enough to keep his attention, and the cool metal under his pillow was sharp enough to hold his interest. He slid his thumb along it slowly, reveling in the cool feeling of it against his skin. 

 

He’d have to do this now. 

 

Tom turned his head towards the other in the bed with him, watching a strong, broad chest rise and fall slowly in time with even breaths. Tord was asleep, and lucky for Tom, he was a heavy sleeper too. Tom took a few moments to watch him, to be sure that this would be his only window of opportunity. Tord actually looked relaxed, for once. His jaw wasn't clenched, eyes weren't narrowed or intense, and his breathing wasn't a practiced kind of even; it was the kind of even that showed his guard was totally down. Tord was vulnerable. 

 

Tord was  _ vulnerable _ . 

 

This was his opportunity. Slowly, not wanting to wake the man next to him, Tom began to move. He closed his hand around the handle of the knife he'd snuck in from the kitchen earlier that day, while Tord had been distracted with something else that a rookie had gotten wrong. Tom had stuffed it away the first chance he got, not wanting Tord to have the slightest idea of what Tom had planned. Slowly sliding the weapon out, Tom looked it over. It wasn't ridiculously big, but it would certainly do its job. 

 

Tom sat on his knees on the bed, looking over to Tord again. He was laying on his back, slightly snoring, bare chest rising and falling slowly. This was going to be his only opportunity, he realized. He can’t mess this up. If Tom wanted out of this, he had to do this now.

 

This was his chance.

 

Slowly, Tom swung a leg over Tord’s waist, hovering just above him so as not to wake him. Tom held the knife tightly in his fist, looking down over Tord as he slept on, unaware of the man above him, unaware that these next few breaths can be his last. This would be an assassination for the ages; the Red Leader done in by the only person he kept closest to him. 

 

Tom swallowed, taking the handle into both of his hands and raising it above his head. Finally, finally, Tom could be free. He could leave the base. He could escape. He could get out of here without Tord on his tail because if anyone would come back for a vengeance, it’s Tord. It’s what happened when Tom couldn't kill him the first time around. 

 

With the knife in the air, Tord on his back, Tom was ready. He was ready, he can do this, he was  _ ready _ \- 

 

“ _ It’s for your own good _ .”

 

Tom blinked, looking down at Tord. He was still asleep. He realized, after a moment, that the voice - Tord’s voice - was in his head. 

 

He was remembering what Tord had said to him, back when Tom was first brought to the Red Base - although ‘brought’ is a light term. ‘Kidnapped and forced to stay’ sounds a little more accurate. Tom can still remember it, what brought him here. 

 

Everything was fine until it wasn't. There had been a knock at the door and then a loud thunk and Tom couldn't hear Edd talking anymore. He went to investigate only to find Edd knocked out on the ground and these guys just running at him, tackling him to the ground and there was a cloth around his face and the last thing he remembered was a bag over his head. 

 

Then he ended up here. 

 

Tord had told him it was to keep him  _ safe _ . There were people, supposedly, who wanted to use Tom against Tord, against the Red Leader, hurt him in a way that nobody could ever do before. Tom didn't buy it; he was utterly convinced that it was some kind of power play Tord was doing to exact revenge for almost killing him before the wars began. He wanted to prove that he could come back, and he will make life worse. He could have Tom thrown to the dogs if he wanted to, considering Tom almost killed him in the first place. 

 

But… he didn't. 

 

Tord almost… pampered Tom, in a way. He humiliated him, sure, but that was how Tord just was. He liked to fuck with people because he knows he can and then show it off for sport to prove he's the real one in control of every situation. No matter what, Tord had total control, and that was how he liked it. 

 

But then there were times that no one would see that Tord could kiss him so sweetly, so gentle that Tom thought he'd imagined it. Or when Tord would, essentially, give Tom free reign in the room as long as he didn't look too much or touch anything he wasn’t supposed to. He kept Tom close to his side, and if he wandered off there was genuine panic and fear that something that happened to him, and it would lead to Tord keeping Tom in his reach at all times, whether it was a hand to hold or in his lap while he did desk work, where Tom would fall asleep from boredom and Tord would carry him back to bed. He kept Tom in his room, clothed him, fed him, touched him when he wanted to be touched and kissed him hard and Tord could tear Tom apart but he doesn't. 

 

It was just like it was back at home. 

 

Tord would be the same way. He kept it behind closed doors, always. That was a guarantee. But with Tord there's an underlying sweetness that Tom knew, deep down, was for him and for him alone. Tord could beat him in a fight, fuck him senseless after a too-close round of verbal arguing, leave bruises that can last for weeks on end but still there would be that ghost of a kind heart in him. It showed in the way he'd kiss Tom so gently, how he'd make sure he was sleeping and eating right and that he didn't drink himself too stupid and when he did Tord would take care of him anyway. Tom thought, at the time, he loved him. 

 

Until Tord tried to kill him. 

 

But now here Tom was, wanting to kill Tord, wanting to end what should have ended too long ago but he was shaking at the thought of losing the one actual constant in his life. Everything else was a variable but Tord, no, Tord was a constant. A constant ache in his back, a constant thorn in his side, a constant rock in his shoe. A constant backup when he needed it, a constant hand against his back, a constant blanket of security when everything became too much. A constant filler in the hole in his heart, a constant reassurance he knows he needs, a constant rock to keep him grounded and keep him relatively okay.

 

A constant presence in his heart, his head, and his thoughts.

 

He loved him.

 

Oh  _ god _ he loved him.

 

No. No no no _no_ **_no_ ** that should not be possible. That shouldn’t even  _ exist _ . ‘Tord’ and ‘love’ should not be anywhere near the same sentence, especially now, especially at a time like this, but Tom was starting to shake and his heartbeat was picking up too fast, beating too loud that he was scared he was going to wake up Tord. 

 

Tom shouldn’t love him.

 

But the more he sat there and thought about it, the more he was starting to realize that he had some disgusting form of love for Tord. It was a twisted and vile thing and it shouldn’t exist but it was thriving in Tom’s heart for some disgusting reason or another. For every violent thought he had for Tord there was another coming in right behind it that only showed that Tom was starting to get in over his head for the stupid Norwegian. Tried to kill him? Took him in, gave him shelter, gave him a home. Led him on to gain his trust at the house where they used to live? Shows him, and only him, the kind of attention worthy of a word called adoration, potentially devotion if Tom wanted to make a reach. Fucked him up, both physically and emotionally, in their sick imitation of a relationship? Proved time and time again that Tord could, very easily, get rid of Tom, make his life worse, show him what Hell truly was but gave him small bites of Heaven instead and wrapped him up tight around his finger because he knows he can. 

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

The knife was shaking in Tom’s hands, and he was starting to feel this tightness in his chest and it felt too much like familiar anxiety attacks only he was thinking about losing Tord and it was tearing him apart. His vision was starting to blur, and he didn’t realize that he was crying until he felt something warm run down his cheeks.

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

Tord lay beneath him, his one good eye open as he stared at Tom, waiting to see if he was actually going to do it. Tom doesn’t know when he woke up. Tom don’t know what he’s even doing anymore. “You really thought you could, hm?” Tord hummed, causing Tom’s gaze to snap to his face as he laid there in all his stupid, awful glory. Tom still had the knife held above his head, shaking so hard he couldn’t tell if that was the knife rattling or if that was his chest. He was crying and it was too much.

 

Tord sighed softly as he sat up, gently shushing Tom as he started to let out a pathetic sob. His hands trailed up along Tom’s arms, brushing over his wrists as he began to coax the knife away from him. His face was close, too close, but everything was a dark blur as more tears came and didn’t stop. “Now, now,  min kjærlighet, let me just have this,” Tord hummed softly, voice thick with sleep and accent so prominent Tom had a hard time understanding until he was finally releasing the knife to Tord and Tom was breaking. 

 

An arm was curling around his waist as Tord set the weapon to the side, a stream of shushes and “it’s okay” coming from Tord’s mouth in a hushed tone that only made Tom feel worse. Everything was falling apart, him included. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. But this is the way it was and Tom didn’t think it could change. Tord’s fingers were running through his hair gently, lips against his temple as Tord would press repeated kisses and murmurs of reassurance to the skin. It only brought out harder sobs from Tom as he clutched onto Tord, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he felt guilt and shame take over. 

 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Tom should be running now. He should be free, free from Tord, from the base, from this life. But now he was stuck in some sick web of feelings that he didn’t even think that he had in him, the tendrils so tight he felt like it was choking him, all this twisted, dark love that he had for Tord. It made him feel sick. He hiccuped and it felt like there was burning in the back of his throat as his chest became tighter than he ever cared for it to be. It was all too much. It was all wrong. Tom sobbed. This shouldn’t have ended like this; Tord was supposed to be dead.

 

He should have killed him when he had the chance. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the way the world ends.  
> This is the way the world ends.  
> This is the way the world ends.  
> Not with a bang, but with - 
> 
> Tom

What happened at the house was supposed to stay at the house. 

 

It was never meant to follow Tord to battle, crawl on his back like a demon, hissing in his ear about ghosts that Tord had been determined to leave behind. Most ghosts he didn’t think of anymore; not with plans of war and conquering the smaller nations were laid out in front of him; not with watching soldiers who had given their lives for him come back in bloody messes that often led to empty barracks that were filled just a day later; not when  _ he  _ wasn’t around as a physical embodiment of everything that Tord knew he couldn’t - shouldn’t - have, but Tord took it anyway because he knew that he could and he was selfish above all things.

 

Being selfish comes back at you in the long road, often in ways that you didn’t anticipate. 

 

Especially with the nagging demon on Tord’s back that hissed and jeered about terrible things. Terrible things that Tord himself could indirectly cause if he didn’t do something about it first. 

 

So he went back.

 

He gained their trust and he went back and he was selfish for a second time because that’s how he was as a human being. He took what he wanted and he hoped for an outcome that he’d been certain of completing himself because he destroys what he touches like it was all he’s ever known to do. He was sure that this would be how it ends.

 

This is the way the world ends.

This is the way the world ends.

This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang, but with - 

 

Tom.

 

Of course. His one variable that he’d never accounted for because Tord had been certain he took him out of the equation in its entirety. But of course, at the most inopportune time, Tom reared his beautiful head and shot Tord down harder than Tord could ever dream to. 

 

This is the way his world ends.

 

The demon was stronger now, fueled by his failure, claws buried into Tord’s skin as it took up a permanent residence on his shoulder, mouth always poised at his ear. Venom dripped from its mouth like a disease, coming out in a stream of words that only made Tord grow harder over the years.

 

Ghosts would appear, from time to time. It was always a quick haunting, never a lingering sensation, just cold pinpricks on his arms and a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest, until these, too, he learned to deal with. The ghosts weren’t scary anymore; they stopped coming back when he stopped looking for them.

 

But there was always one.

 

_ They’ll get him first, if you don’t _ , the demon would hiss.  _ You missed. You had your shot, and you missed, but he will never miss you _ . It was always at night, in the dark when Tord was as alone as one could get while being an up-and-coming war leader. It’s not like he could sleep; there was far too much planning for that, and Tord would be a fool to think that he could sleep during his revolution. But the demon would flex its claws under his skin, a jolting alert that would send a shock through his system to wake him up just enough to focus on the one ghost lingering in the corner. 

 

It was a pestering few months before Tord finally made a plan of action.

 

He was to be brought in alive. Rough him up if need be, but alive. The demon was sated for that time being. It hissed with glee as the plan was carried out - a total success, as Pat would later tell him. One small casualty - not dead, just knocked out, but the plan ran more smoothly than they could have hoped for. 

 

The claws felt looser after that. Dislodged? No, Tord could never expect that. But loosened, of that he was certain. The ghosts stopped appearing. The demon’s hisses were quieter now. It was better with him here; it gave Tord a moment to sleep without incessant jeering and snickering in his ear. 

 

It was peace - or about as peaceful as you could be with someone like Tord.

 

Tom was resistant, at first, much like Tord expected him to be. He bit and snapped and growled like a caged dog who’d only ever known abuse and mockery at the hand of those he cared for the most. Tord expected this. He didn’t think that Tom would come around so easily, and he certainly wouldn’t expect that of him. 

 

But true to Tord’s nature, he couldn’t have a feisty dog in his home. Tom would need to be housebroken.

 

So of course Tord humiliated him, ground him down into the dirt beneath his boot because Tord needed it to show that he could still conquer his ghosts. He couldn’t be shown up by Tom; and he certainly couldn’t let on that the one remaining soft spot in Tord’s chest could only be held by Tom. If word got out about that, then Tord would be in serious trouble. It was bad enough his enemies knew where Tord used to live, who he used to be around, who he used to care for; it would be even worse if Tord only confirmed their beliefs about Tom.

 

Regardless of what they were before, that didn’t stop Tom from biting at the hand that feeds. Even with Tord’s humiliation, with Tord showing him his place time and time again, Tom would continue to snap. It was true stubborn Tom fashion, Tord knew. To have Tom any other way would simply be wrong. “I wish I could have killed you.”

 

Tord shrugged, looking away as he felt the demon shift on his shoulder. It was supposed to be dormant now; that was apparently not the case. “You should have done so when you had the chance then, Thomas.”

 

“I thought I did.”

 

The demon twisted his claws, and Tord didn’t say a word.

 

It was a few months after bringing Tom to the base, after he’d taken time to settle, before Tord was finally questioned about why he was here. The demon turned his claws, just a small twitch, and Tord was flashed an image of a ghost he’d been trying to exorcise for ages. “For your own good,” he’d told him. “There are people out there trying to use you against me. I can’t have that.”

 

“Me? Against you?” Tom scoffed; Tord knew he wouldn’t believe him. The man flipped through another page of his file. “That’s some bullshit.”

 

“Believe it or not, I do not care,” Tord said. “But, you would be the ultimate weapon against me. Too many people knew of you and I’s history, and I could not have that out in plain sight any longer. You will be here until I decide what to do with you.”

 

“Maybe you should just kill me, like you tried to before all this shit started,” Tom sneered.

 

Tord hummed. “It will certainly be an option.”

 

Except it was never an option because Tord refused to have Tom in any danger again. If Tord could not get rid of Tom, then he would pick up where he had brutally cut them off. 

 

It took a little bit, but soon enough Tom was curling up in his arms just as it was before. Tord would sprinkle him with kisses and light touches that lingered and Tom was beginning to fall for it, just like he did every time. Tord knew his way around Tom and he used it to his advantage in every way he possibly could think to. It’s why it was so easy to make Tom melt under a few touches or a brief kiss with the promise of something else when no one was around to watch. It’s why it was so easy to get Tom into melting into a routine he didn’t even realize that Tord had started to keep him distracted from much anything else. 

 

Above all else, Tom was, physically, safe.

 

Emotionally… That’s a different story that Tord didn’t like to tell.

 

The claws in Tord’s back had been loosened in their hold the more Tord got Tom to warm up to him, to get him to pretend that everything really can be the same as before except it can’t because Tord is a leader of war and Tom is his only downfall. To have Tom here is still a danger in itself, but it was better than having Tom out there. 

 

Could he expect Tom to fully love him again? Of course not. That’s beyond any kind of standards that Tord has set for himself. Tord has kidnapped him, nearly killed him, destroyed his old home that they used to live in together, nearly killed their friends, has potentially ruined Tom’s image of what a relationship should look like by distorting and twisting the image into one that suits Tord better than it has ever suited Tom. 

 

Of course, that didn’t stop Tord from feeling what should have been dead the moment he left their shared home. The demon lingering on his shoulder made sure of that. The ghosts have disappeared, but Tord is left with Tom and whatever damage he might have done in the process. Tord had grown hard, and with the coming of thicker skin meant the death of the emotions he needed to leave behind in order to succeed at the change that this world needed. 

 

But Tom brought out a phantom feeling in his heart that he’d hoped he’d killed and now it was even more of a danger to Tord than any weapon his enemies could think to come up with. Tom was his greatest downfall in and out of the base. He could be used against him at any time, in any place. There was no known weakness to the Red Leader but the thing that was the most dangerous to him, the most fatal, was the one he kept in his arms and between his sheets at night; the one who he’d rather have at his side over anyone in the base; the only one who he could even begin a likeness to that could stretch towards adoring if he really wanted to make that reach. Tord had the danger right next to him, sleeping under his arm, seeing him at his most vulnerable. He simply couldn’t have such a danger so close; a weapon that was destined to explode if he pressed the wrong button.

 

But he couldn’t seem to let him go, either. 

 

So when he woke up to whimpering and found Tom above him, knife poised high above him, he wasn’t that surprised about it. He watched as Tom shook like a leaf in the Autumn wind, tears rolling down his cheeks in waves, looking ready to kill but it seemed like something was holding him back. Tom’s lip was twitching, and the whimpers that left his mouth were more pathetic than the whole sight above him.

 

Whatever Tom thought he was capable of, he didn’t have the guts to do it.

 

“You really thought you could, hm?” Tord hummed, and it only seemed to shake Tom up more. One more word, Tord thinks, and Tom was bound to crumble before him. He looked one breath away from falling apart. Tord sighed softly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and the arm wrapping around Tom’s waist seemed to be his breaking point, because the moment Tord pulled him close Tom broke down. Sobs left him, hard ones that shook his whole body and wracked his chest and it should be pulling at something inside of Tord but the demon had its claws too deep and the only emotion Tord could think to feel was a lack of surprise. It was inevitable that Tom would finally lash out at Tord; the only surprising thing was that Tom actually thought he had the strength, the will to actually kill Tord and fulfill what he should have done years ago. 

 

Tord shushed him softly, brushing the fingers of his free hand along Tom’s arms, trailing their way up to his hands as he closed his fingers around the handle of the knife that Tom was holding so desperately, like if he let go, all this would be for not, would have been utterly pointless. Which, from the looks of it, this was going to not go in Tom’s favor. Not in the slightest. “Now, now,  min kjærlighet, just let me have this,” Tord cooed softly, fingers gently coaxing the knife from Tom’s hands. They complied as another sob left the smaller man, and Tord shushed him still as he took the weapon and set it to the side on a bedside table on Tord’s side of the bed. “Hush now,  elskling, it’s okay,” Tord would hum over and over, running a hand through Tom’s messy hair and pressing reassuring words and kisses to Tom’s, frankly, undeserving temple. 

 

This wasn’t how Tom wanted it to be. If Tom had his way, he’d be out of here in no time. Tord wasn’t supposed to live through this night, wasn’t supposed to be comforting Tom for nearly committing an assassination for the ages. Tord was supposed to be dead. Tord knew that. The demon on his back knew that too, with the way it twisted its claws in Tord’s shoulder. This was his ghost coming back to haunt him; this was the spirit he failed to exorcise because he didn’t think he could live without it.

 

At least he knew his ghost couldn’t live without him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who commented, left kudos, maybe even shared this story, thank you so much! i'll always be taking requests or prompts so if you have an idea you wanna see, hit me up at ryanhavwood.tumblr.com and we'll talk it out!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to d for the prompt, always need an excuse to write some angst


End file.
